


Still Not Ready For All This

by Capostrophe



Series: After the End of the Day [1]
Category: Bread (TV)
Genre: Brotherhood, Brotherly Affection, Custody of children, Divorce, F/M, Fatherhood, Marriage, Rebound relationships, Remarriage, Step-parents, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 19:19:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capostrophe/pseuds/Capostrophe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Billy's life is all problems at the moment- Julie's getting remarried, Francesca's staying with him for the weekend, and what's more, whenever he tries to share one of his problems with the family, the spotlight ends up on Joey instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still Not Ready For All This

**Author's Note:**

> This ties in with 'At the End of the Day', and with 'Leaping Out of the Bath (Shouting 'Next!')

  **1993**  


'No! I'm _not_ goin' that way!'

'Aw, come on, Ces!' Billy pleads. 'You love the swings, don't yer?'

His daughter puts one hand on her hip, her face contorting into the same scowl that has crossed Julie's face so many times over the years, the scowl that inevitably means Billy is in trouble.

' _Fran-_ ces- _ca_ ,' she enunciates, stomping her foot for emphasis. Her eyes are glinting with anger, her lips curled into a pout, her hair a wild candy-floss cloud around her head. Billy looks at her, and for a moment, all he can see is Julie. Julie's snarl, Julie's hair, Julie's face, Julie's ability to turn a sunny day foul with one look. It's hard to imagine this miniature Julie coming from him, from his body- but then again, as his ex-wife is quick to remind him, she didn't, did she? It was Julie who fed and built Francesca, Julie who gave birth to her- why does it surprise him that Julie's the one who's influenced her as well?

'Sorry, sorry,' he says hastily, holding up his hands. 'C'mon, _Francesca_ \- it's a lovely day! There are so many things we could do- we could have a _smashing_ time in the park!'

Francesca's scowl remains fixed.

'I don't want to.'

Billy groans. He's learned by now that it's no use trying to cajole Francesca Boswell-Jefferson – if she's made up her mind, that's it. She's got a mind of her own, and if she doesn't get her way, woe betide the person standing between her and her desires. Billy wonders just when he stopped being a parent and started being a slave, bending over backwards in an attempt to make his daughter happy and always missing the mark by a wide margin. She's six–and-a-half, too young to understand much of the world, and yet she's the one who calls the shots.

'Erm,' Billy says, putting his fist to his mouth, absently sucking on the signet ring Joey gave him as he tries to come up with a way of appeasing her. 'What _do_ you wanna do then?'

'I _want_ to go home,' says Francesca, crossing her arms in a sulk. The remark sends Billy plunging into the depths of despair, but he does his utmost to remain cheery.

'Aw, what d'you wanna go home for?' he gives her a cheesy grin, which she doesn't return. 'We've got the whole afternoon together, Francesca- don't you wanna spend time with your old Dad?'

' _Julian's_ more fun than you are.'

Of course she likes Julie's boyfriend more than him. It figures, doesn't it? Nothing ever works out for Billy. The others are all at it for longer than he is, and he's the one who ends up pregnant. (Well, Julie- well…whatever.) He's only married about a week before it all starts to disintegrate, and then they're planning a divorce a year after they said their wedding vows, getting the deed actually done a year after that.

He doesn't even get to have a faithful ex-wife for a month before she's taking a stranger to bed. And despite his attempts to get her back, which he'd thought had worked, she'd moved away, and she's now only _just_ grudgingly started letting Billy see Francesca again, usually when she wants time alone with that bastard Julian.

They're getting married in a couple of weeks. So much for Julie being done with marriage. So much for Julian 'not being the right one.'

Julian. _Julie_ and _Julian._ Julie and Julian, like some comedy duo in a crappy telly programme, stupidly named and inseparable; the two Ronnies; Laurel and Hardy, but with more bonking. It's sickening.

And of _course_ Francesca has to adore her stepfather. It's just in keeping with the _unfairness_ of everything.

Billy tries, _oh how he tries_ , to be a good father, but he's just not up to snuff. He buys her things, only to have Julie tell him to take them back (he doesn't care what she says, that spider toy was _not_ going to harm her), he takes her places, only to have Francesca sulk and descend into boredom, he spends as much time with her as Julie will allow, only to find that she hates being with him, that she'd rather go home to her Mam and that oh-so-perfect, better-father-material Julian.

Francesca stomps away up the path, her little hands balled into fists, and Billy watches her, his heart clenching and sinking.

_I'm not ready for all this._

* * *

'Did you 'ave a good time with Daddy?'

'No,' harrumphs Francesca, and flounces off to her room.

'Yeah, well,' Julie murmurs, 'I didn't think ya would. It's not exactly _my_ cup of tea either, spending the day with a member of the Boswell _sect_.'

Billy's temper immediately rises. 'Now, listen 'ere, Julie, I don't like the way you're talking about me to _our daughter_. I'm doing the best I can to provide for her- because that's what I am, Julie, a _provider_ \- and you keep going behind my back slaggin' off me family. You- you've… _injunctrinated_ her against me.'

'There's no such word as 'injunctrinated', Billy,' Julie says wearily. 'The word you want is _indoctrinated_. Can you say it? In-doc-trin-ate-ed?'

'Well, _whatever it is_ ,' Billy snaps, 'I don't want you doin' it to Francesca! D'you know what she said to me today, Julie? Do you know what she said?'

'Oh, here we go,' Julie mutters, flopping onto the sofa.

'She said- _this is what she said, Julie_ \- that Julian was more fun than me!'

'Per'aps that's because Julian _is_ more fun than you.'

Billy turns to glower at his ex-wife. Well, that's subtle, that is. That's a great way to get a dig in, to rub it in that she's having a better time with Julian than she had with him. There's a touch of the post-coital in Julie's relaxed pose, a sort of dreamy laziness that makes implications he'd rather not dwell on. That's probably why she wanted Billy to take Francesca for the afternoon- so she could have a jolly old time getting up to no good with her stupid, matching-name, soon-to-be-husband.

'Now _look, Julie_ ,' he says again, 'it's bad enough that you're an adulterous ex-wife…'

Julie actually spits at this remark.

'…but this is just not on! I'm not havin' _my daughter_ saying that she would rather be with Julian than her own Dad- you don't seem to realise, Julie, that I do everything for my child, and what do I get in return? I'll tell you, I-'

Billy stops short, something catching his eye. A framed, professionally-done photograph sits on the coffee table, positioned deliberately to draw attention to itself; Julie and Julian and Francesca, a charismatic little group, all smiling and arms round each other. A happy little family, without him.

Billy stares at it for a second or two, and then turns round and storms out, his rage controlling his legs.

It's not fair, it really isn't.

'Oh, Billy?' Julie's voice reverberates through the passage, reaching him just as he's reached the front door.

He'll resist the call. Whatever she wants, she's not having it. Get _Julian_ to give it to her- he's out of here, he's back to Mam's, he's...

'Bill-eeeeee?'

_Come into my parlour._

Grimacing, Billy lets his hand fall from the doorhandle.

* * *

'We _thank_ Thee, O Father…'

Nellie's tone of voice would be enough, without the pointed look she gives Billy. He drops the serving spoon back into the crockpot with a splash and a clatter, sending a good third of the stew within sloshing over the edges.

'I'll never get away with it, will I?'

Joey rests his chin on his clasped hands and cracks an eye open. Grumbling, Billy abandons thoughts of sustenance until after prayers and puts his own hands together.

Nellie thanks the Lord for the usual things: health, unity, the family, the food, and Billy nods along with each one, desperate for eating-and-talking time to start, so he can scoff his troubles away and simultaneously spill his heart out to his family.

Billy isn't one for being sacrilegious, not really, (although he does still tend to speak before he thinks and not understand what he himself has just said, let alone why it upsets Nellie so) but today he can't even wait until the _Amen_ has been said before he's getting stuck into his dinner. In the olden days, he'd have been subjected to protests and lectures from Adrian and Jack on his gluttony, and the percentage of the food he single-handedly puts away, but Jack and Adrian have long gone, and Nellie, though she still complains, has resigned herself to the fact that Billy, at twenty-four, is too set in his habits to change. And Joey, well…Joey doesn't seem to care about anything these days. He hasn't been the same since his divorce- since Roxy shattered his world not once, but twice, not only leaving him for someone else, but denying him any contact with her son, too.

Right now he's staring into his empty bowl, idly jabbing at it with a spoon, even though there's nothing in it _to_ jab at.

'You'll wear your stomach out, our Billy,' Nellie says, though he can tell her heart isn't in the reproach.

'I'm fed up, Mam,' he says, snatching up another bread roll.

'Not by the looks of you, you're not- otherwise you'd be too full to keep on eating like that.'

' _No_ ,' Billy whines. Why is it when he uses a metaphor in this house, no-one gets it? 'I'm fed up with bein' _used_.'

'Used?' her voice and face immediately turn to terror. 'Oh, Billy! Did someone mug you, love? Did someone _violate_ you- _because if they did-'_

'Mam,' Joey touches her shoulder.

'It's not that. It's Julie. She's gettin' married to that _Julian_ next weekend…'

'I thought you were over her,' Joey says flatly.

'I am, but…'

'You've 'ad girls since Julie- what about Connie, and that new one you're always talkin' about…'

' _I'm tryin' to say something 'ere!'_ He knows they hate it when he jumps up, but sometimes they make his blood boil, the way they never listen to a word he says. At least this gets results.

Joey shuts his eyes and takes a slow, steady breath. Billy sits back down.

'Julie's marryin' _that man_ ,' he begins again, 'next weekend, and they're goin' up to Leeds as a sort o' honeymoon- and _get this-_ I'm stuck with Francesca for the whole weekend while _my ex-wife_ is goin' off on a holiday with _her new husband!_ '

'What's wrong with that?' ask Nellie and Joey, almost in sync.

'Julie's just fobbin' off 'er child on me so she can satisfy her lusts! A lust holiday, that's all it is! Now I've got to try and keep Francesca- who, _by the way,_ said today that I was no fun- entertained _'ere_ , in _this 'ouse_ , all next weekend while she's off bonkin' that-'

'Billy!' Nellie's all but on her feet herself. 'We don't need words like 'lust' and b- and _those sorts of things_ at the dinner table!'

'But that's what it is,' Billy insists. 'And what am I supposed to do with Francesca for the whole weekend? She can't even stand being with me for an afternoon – I'm a rubbish father, and I'm not ready for all this!'

'Well, you'll just have to make yourself ready, that's all,' Nellie says. 'She's your daughter- she's as much your responsibility as Julie's, and if you don't get in there and make an impression on her, before you know it she'll have grown up and it'll be too late.'

It's all well and good for her to tell him to _make himself ready_. How's he supposed to go about _that?_ If he can't naturally _be_ ready, he doubts he can force the condition upon himself.

'You don't understand, I don't know what to _do_ with her! I'm at me wits' end tryin' to make her love me, and I can't just spend two whole days with her when I don't know wh…' Billy realises he's not getting anywhere and tries a different approach.

' _You_ put yourself in my shoes,' he says, 'if a woman foisted off a child on _you_ and made you take care of them all on your own- how would _you_ cope, eh?'

A hush falls over the kitchen. Nellie's eyes dart towards her first-born.

'Excuse me,' says Joey, and, with quiet dignity, he gets up and leaves the room.

'D'you think 'e's got a dodgy tummy?' Billy asks after a moment's silence.

He doesn't understand why his mother is glaring at him.

'Eh, Mam?' he persists. 'D'you think Joey's unwell? He cleared off pretty quickly, maybe it's your tofu scouse that's done it…'

' _There-is-nothing-wrong-with-my-cooking!_ ' Nellie snaps, tossing her head wildly, and Billy shrinks down a little.

'Er, I didn't mean anythin' by it,' he tries to amend, 'it's just, well, you know, he got up and left the table suddenly, didn't he? I've read about food-poisoning somewhere. When you get it, you-'

' _Our_ - _Joey-is-not-food-poisoned!'_ his Mam screeches. 'He's upset, because _you've_ opened your gob and put your foot in it- you've reminded him of Roxy and the child, haven't you? And now he's agonising over losing them again thanks to you!'

Billy opens his mouth, but gets no further.

'Go and find him!' Nellie says, jabbing a finger at him. Billy doesn't even question the order- he gets up, knocking his chair over in the process, and hurries out the room.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Nellie crossing herself.

* * *

It's easy to follow Joey when he goes off in a huff. When Joey's upset, he likes to be alone, and his favourite little retreat, his sanctuary, is parked out the front of their house.

Sure enough, when Billy approaches the Jag, there he sits in the driver's seat, staring out the front window. Billy hesitates a moment, and then opens the passenger door and eases himself into the car.

Joey flinches as he shuts the door just a teensy bit too hard, but otherwise he doesn't acknowledge the intrusion. He gazes into space, his inner torment etched into the lines in his forehead, scrawled across his face for the world to see.

The events of the last year or so have taken their toll on his brother. His normal, stylish self has been neglected of late, jacket thrown on haphazardly over a shirt and trousers that don't match, shoes untied. Joey's left his hair to its own devices, the result being that it now cascades around his shoulders, half-grown out, the tresses touching his collarbone still unnaturally blond while the top of his head is dark, almost black. And Joey has always been quite slender- skinny, even- but now his cheekbones look ready to rupture the skin of his face, his wrist-bones and elbows stick out lethally, his fitted shirts and jackets hang on his frame.

The pain and loss are eating away at him- literally; visibly- from the inside out.

He's becoming reclusive, too, Billy's noticed. Joey doesn't often leave the house, hardly works, hasn't even bothered to go and sign-on down the DSS again, despite making plans to when he sold his organic business. He barely eats, he doesn't sleep- Billy hears him pacing around the room next door at night- he stays in bed on a Sunday, huddling under the covers and wallowing rather than getting up and going to church with Nellie and Billy, and he's often still not up when they get home. He's all but lost the will to live; he's merely a faded replica of that strong, self-assured master of the house Billy always looked up to.

Billy crosses his legs, wincing at the squeaking noise his jeans make against the leather seat.

'…Joey?'

'Yes, son?' Joey's voice is hollow. He continues to stare through the windscreen.

'Erm,' Billy shifts again, this time choosing to wring his hands rather than risk any more embarrassing noises, 'are you…are you okay?'

It's a daft question. Joey's not okay. Not in the least. But what else can he say?

'Don't sweat about me, sunshine. Don't sweat about me.'

'Oh. Okay.' Billy moves to get out of the car- Joey _has_ just said not to worry, after all - but some unseen force compels him to stay.

'Er,' he bleats, 'I know you're upset, and, well, I don't know if I'd be much help- I'm not one of those sky-cauliflower-gists or anythin'…'

He gets a snort out of Joey; he has no idea why.

'But, ehm…I do know a bit about what you're going through- I did get a divorce too, you know…' he trails off, feeling he's fighting a losing battle. Joey's the one people go to for advice. Billy's the one people go to if they need an extra pair of hands for a job; he's not suited to counselling people.

Joey fixes his eyes upon him. Billy has always thought there's something quite…special about Joey's eyes; their unusual, almost-green colour, their depth, they make him look more…what was that word? Egg-matic? (He'll ask Aveline later. She knows how to pronounce it.)

Now, though, all they look is sad, clouded over just like the rest of him; a poor imitation of the Joey of old.

'I appreciate that, son,' Joey says softly. 'I really do- but I don't really feel like 'avin' a chat right now. I just wanna think.'

'Mam says you're agony-ising,' Billy says, 'because of Roxy and Oscar, and…'

Joey tenses, jaw clenching, and Billy thinks perhaps he'd better quit while he's…well, not ahead, but not _too_ far behind, and make his escape.

But then Joey's shoulders slump, and he leans forward against the steering wheel with a heavy sigh.

'I'm sorry, Billy,' he says after a while. 'I shouldn't 'ave stormed out like that- it's just… you talkin' about havin' Francesca over for the weekend…it just really _gets_ to me that I'm never gonna get to do that with Oscar.'

He sighs again, and Billy, although perhaps having the lowest level of tact on record, still knows to keep his mouth shut, that there's more to come.

'And I just…' Joey puts a fist to his forehead as he tries to elaborate, 'I'd give anythin' to see 'im again. Even just once.'

'Would you give that jacket?' Billy asks, eyeing it up.

Joey rolls his eyes.

'Not what I meant, son. I just…' he suddenly sits up straighter, slamming his fist against the steering wheel, 'I _hate_ the idea that while I'm down here, somewhere up in London Oscar's livin' his life- without me- with that sleazy Spanish _bastard_ puttin' his greasy hands all over 'im…'

If Billy hates Julian, then Joey's disdain for Roxy's new flame _redefines_ the word 'hate'. A mention of Alberto's name in their house has almost as disastrous consequences as a mention of Lilo Lil's. Billy refrains from opening that avenue of discussion.

'Aw, hey,' he says instead. 'That's sad, that is.'

'Yeah.'

'But now you've come to _mention_ Francesca's visit,' Billy continues, feeling he's been sympathetic enough and can now move onto his own problems, 'I'm out of ideas on what to do with her! How do I keep a _child_ occupied for a whole weekend? But _you'd_ know what to do, wouldn't you, Joey? I mean, raisin' Oscar and all…'

'Bil-ly…'

'And not only that- I didn't mean to bring that up,' Billy laughs uneasily, 'not just 'im, anyway- you raised me quite a bit, didn't you? Being twelve years older than me, and Mam being… you know, upset about Lilo Lil. And you were good at that- well, apart from that time you threw your slipper at me- but we all 'ave bad moods sometimes, and I'd pinched the bacon off your plate, hadn't I- that was before you became a vegetarian, of course, well, you were only seventeen, weren't you…'

'Billy, what are you on about? You're just ramblin'.'

'And _anyway_ ,' Billy finishes, exhaling sharply after spilling all that out without a breath, 'can you help me, Joey? Can you help me entertain Francesca next weekend?'

'Billy,' Joey sighs, 'I'm not in the mood for this.'

'Aw, hey, what happened to all our family mottos? Us and ours? All of us on the same end of the rope? I need you help me to pull it! Aw, come on, Joey!'

Joey doesn't respond, so he throws in a small snow-job.

'I could really use some o' your wisdom to help me through.'

A faint chuckle sounds from the driver's seat.

'Okay, son,' Joey says, giving him a lukewarm smile. 'Okay.'

* * *

He can't really talk about Julie being an unfaithful ex-wife. It isn't as if Billy has been all that 'un-adulterous' himself. He _is_ still seeing women, _is_ still comparison-shopping for the right one to share his life. He'd thought it'd work out with Connie, he really had- then it didn't. He'd thought it was the real thing with Imogen- then it wasn't.

Right now, Billy's standing by the counter at the corner shop, grappling with an armful of emergency shopping and trying to fish out Nellie's list from his pocket to see if he's forgotten anything- and whilst juggling all this, he's doing it _again_. His eye is fixed on the girl behind the counter as she smiles and nods at the customer in front of him in the queue. He squints, trying to read her name badge from a distance. Abigail, he thinks it says.

She's a little different from his usual type- the girls he often fancies - _really_ fancies, not just says so for attention- are feminine, delicate (or at least _seem_ that way- Julie quickly turned into a guard dog in frilly knickers). Abigail's got broad shoulders and a sturdy, solid look about her, melded with the perfect amount of curve and a round, cheerful face that gives Billy butterflies just looking at it. He wonders if there's any way of managing to look impressive while struggling to keep a hold on an armful of cereal boxes and egg cartons. Joey would probably manage it. Billy's not Joey, though.

And anyway, he realises with a sinking heart as he admires Abigail's smile, it probably wouldn't work out. It hasn't with the others.

And, despite insisting otherwise, Billy knows why.

He's still in love with Julie.

She was his first girlfriend, his first sweetheart, and something like that is bound to leave a permanent mark. Some days he tells himself he isn't, that the stirrings he feels when he looks at her are just lust, longings for the idea of her, laments because he doesn't have _anyone_ , not because he doesn't have someone in particular. But Billy can't lie to himself. It still breaks his heart, the fact that Julie doesn't love him anymore.

Francesca breaks his heart and all. She doesn't love him either.

Francesca is his last link to Julie, to the life he'd imagined and planned out when he was seventeen and Julie was carrying an enormous Easter egg under her jumper, when he was eighteen and putting on a poncey suit, and announcing _Billy Boswell and his wife_ to the bedroom mirror. Francesca is his last hope that he _can_ do something right, that he _can_ salvage at least part of his chaotic first relationship.

He's almost lost her, too. He can't let that happen. His weekend with Francesca _has_ to work out - he _has_ to get her to like him somehow. He can't lose his daughter to the same swamp of hatred that swallowed Julie. He can't lose Francesca, and end up like Joey, mired in hopelessness and despair.

He's so worked up about this that when he reaches the head of the queue, he forgets his campaign to impress Abigail, dribbles before realising she's calling for the next customer, drops one or two things and realises as he's walking home that he forgot the bacon.

_Why can't I be ready for all this?_

* * *

It's been a terrible week. Billy has _had it_ , and, as he storms into the kitchen for his lunch, he wonders just how he can subtly slip his frustration into the mealtime conversation.

'I've 'ad it. I've just 'ad it!'

Billy slams himself into his chair, slams his plate to one side, slams his head into his hands.

Perhaps he's missed subtle by just an inch.

'Somethin' up, is it, son?'

'Oh, _funny_!' Billy sticks two fingers up at Joey, and has to hastily hide his hand under the table as Nellie turns around. He's a bit too late, and endures a sharp cuff to the back of his head for his 'immoral gesture.'

'So what's upset you today, son?' Joey asks.

'I'm bein' _bullied_.'

'Honestly, Billy!' Nellie drops a dish to the table with a thunk. 'I didn't even hit you that hard!'

'Not _that_ , Mam,' Billy says, though he rubs his head all the same, 'I'm talkin' about _everything!_ Julie's rubbin' it in about her wedding, Francesca's throwin' tantrums about this weekend, I only made _ten quid_ today with me sandwiches and now I'm bein' bullied by the DSS an' all!'

Joey looks up from his plate, suddenly alert.

'What happened, sunshine?'

Billy squares his shoulders as he begins the recount.

'That DSS lady- you know the one- she's…she's…' Billy struggles to find the right expression among his limited and somewhat misinformed vocabulary, 'takin' liberties!'

Joey smacks his forehead against the table as he doubles over to laugh.

'You've cheered up,' Billy observes, astonished. 'Are my troubles a joke, then?'

'I'm sorry, son,' Joey lifts his head weakly, eyes watering as he does his best to hold in his snickers. 'So, she's taken liberties, has she? Didn't think she was your type, Billy!'

'Joey!' Nellie reprimands, but she lets it drop fairly quickly- it's obvious, even to Billy, that she's thrilled at Joey's good mood.

'Oh, aren't _you_ the comedian tonight?' Billy growls.

'Okay, son, calm down,' Joey holds a hand up. 'What happened?'

'She implied I was lazy, she did!'

' _Well_.'

Billy glares.

'She said I was disorganised, 'cause I didn't sign-on on the right day- and _you know_ me van broke down!- and when I gave 'er the electricity bill, she said serve us right if we got cut off for usin' more heat than we could afford!'

Joey chortles. 'Ah, yes. Sounds like her. Pursin' her lips, was she?'

'Yeah.'

'Ah, yeah,' Joey says again, a nostalgic twinkle in his eyes. 'I remember that look. I _earned_ that look off her, with my skills of persuasion and persistence…those were the days, eh, Billy?'

'They're still goin' on for _me_ ,' Billy mutters.

'Happy, triumphant times, they were. I really had… _something_ back then. Skill. I was fantastic.'

'You can swap with me, then.' Billy makes a face. Joey had always made going to that dreadful place a game- he'd actually _enjoyed_ it, in some strange, Joey-ish way. Billy hates it- always has, always will. He comes out with a headache every time.

'Maybe I _should_ go back down there…' Joey muses. He looks more animated than Billy can remember him being since…well, since his marriage fell apart. 'I _was_ good at negotiatin', wasn't I?'

Billy suddenly feels annoyance bubble up inside him. He was supposed to be talking about _his_ problems, and all of a sudden life has turned into _The Joey Show_ yet again. And yes, it's good Joey seems to be coming out of his shell, is talking about doing something rather than sitting around moping, but Billy wanted them to listen to _him_ , not swing the spotlight onto his brother again.

'It's always about _you_ , isn't it?' he snaps. 'In case you didn't notice, _Joey_ , I'm 'avin' a crisis, aren't I?'

'Billy,' Nellie says, foraying back into the conversation just to tell him off, 'our Joey's had an 'ard time of it lately.'

'Well, _I've_ 'ad an 'ard time,' Billy protests, 'I've got an estranged child who's… _estranged_ , and I can't even take care of this family by gettin' money from the DHSS for them, let alone for _my daughter_ , and Joey sits around suffering and gets pampered, and _I_ …' the chair squeals as he pushes it back to get onto his feet, ' _I_ get ignored, or told to get over it and that it's high time I moved out! Why don't you nag ' _im?_ '

He's fed up with it. He loves Joey dearly, but he's sick of him getting preferential treatment. He'd wanted some sympathy- not just for the misadventure he'd suffered today, but for this whole week, for the daunting prospect of Francesca coming that's still hanging over him, that's making everything a hundred times worse. But it's no use saying anything to this family. Even now, while he's yelling in their faces, they're nonchalantly slicing potatoes and scooping up peas. They don't even have an excuse for it, really- Jack, Adrian and Aveline aren't there to shout down his troubles with their own. They just don't _want_ to pay attention to him.

'I'm sick of you lot!' he snaps, 'I'm goin' out- and I'm _not_ sayin' when I'll be back!'

He stomps off.

* * *

'Are you gonna buy anythin'? You've been starin' at those jars o' mayonnaise for 'alf an hour!'

Billy jolts out of his murky thoughts to find Abigail standing over him, hands on her broad hips and a playful smile on her face.

'I'm closin' up shop, you know.'

Billy opens his mouth, but then she slants her eyebrows and all he can see is Julie standing in the kitchen doorway, teasing him about being _a changed person_ , Julie smugly bringing him Bismuth instead of tea, Francesca copying Julie's smirk when Billy had tried to read _The Tale of Tom Kitten_ to her and 'not done the voices right', and suddenly all he wants is to forget Julie, to forget Francesca's imminent visit, to forget the lot.

'Let's 'ave supper,' he blurts.

Abigail is visibly amused.

'What, with you?' there's a mischievous look in her eye. 'What, now? It's 'alf past ten at night!'

'Yeah, right now,' says Billy, trying to sound more self-assured than he is, 'that's the sort of man I am, Abigail- impulsive.'

She laughs, a tinkling sound, odd considering her deep-ish voice.

'Oh, all right- come on, then.'

* * *

'And our Joey gets all the attention- he's Mam's favourite, apart from Aveline, that is…'

'Tragic.' Abigail stifles a yawn.

'And it doesn't matter if I've got problems, 'cause theirs are more important, aren't they? It was the same when Adrian and Jack and Aveline were livin' at home- and it's worse now, 'cause when they come over they're guests, and so they get to talk first and dish out their food first, and…and they don't realise how hard it is, having a divorced wife who's gettin' remarried, and an estranged baby daughter who hates me…'

'Billy…'

'And, I mean, yeah, Joey's got a divorce and all, and he's lost his son too, but he's not his _real_ son, and he doesn't understand how hard it is 'avin' your _own_ , and…'

'Billy…'

'And 'ow am I supposed to get Francesca to 'ave a good time if Julie's indoctor-nated her to hate the family? Do you realise- this could be the last chance I get to get 'er to accept me as a proper Dad- now Julie's marryin' Julian he'll be spendin' all that time with her…er, all the time…and she'll forget me…'

'Billy, you're a bit preoccupied with this…'

'It's gonna be a disaster, I know it!'

Abigail stands abruptly, and Billy wonders momentarily if she's about to do what he always does, to 'chuck a Billy', as they call it at home, to shout over him. He falls silent.

'Look, Billy, you've obviously got things on your mind,' she says, reaching over the table to touch his arm, 'maybe we should reschedule this, yeah? For some _other_ time?' Her face radiates kindness, but he can't miss the touch of bitterness in her voice.

Billy puts his head in his arms as she leaves. He's just stuffed _another_ thing up.

 _I'll never be ready for all this_.

* * *

One night to go. One night, and then Francesca will be here. Billy lies in bed, staring at a ceiling he can't see through the dark, puzzling and pondering.

He's not ready to be a father. Granted, it's far too late to be thinking that, but it's true. He wasn't when it first happened; he's not now.

He's always rushed headlong into things, has Billy. He wasn't ready for a serious relationship, and before he knew it Julie was pregnant. He's still not ready to move on from Julie, and he's wrecked two relationships since and probably ruined the possibility of a third. And he's certainly not ready to compete with the competent, capable Julie-and-Julian team for a slice of Francesca's love.

But there's no waiting 'til he's ready- he's past that. He's got to steady himself and do his best. That's all he _can_ do.

Across the hall, Joey's (formerly Aveline's) door creaks. Billy frowns. What's Joey up to at this time of night? He'd go and ask, but he's still mildly cross with his brother, despite his promise to help him out with Francesca. He still doesn't think it's right that Joey has virtually the same problems as him, and though he had them first, and though he's younger and Joey's better equipped to handle tragedy, Joey's cooed over while Billy gets told to grow up.

He rolls onto his side, away from the door, pulling the blankets over his head, seeking comfort from their warmth, hoping to slip towards sleep and the blissful oblivion from everything that it brings.

* * *

Billy does sleep – and well. He always manages to, somehow. It's one of the few things his siblings envy him for.

He sleeps right through his alarm, in fact.

And the backup one.

It's hunger that eventually rouses him, and he wanders groggily down the stairs, nose leading him towards the smell of scrambled eggs and toast. Had he been anyone else, he'd have felt too nervous to eat a bite, but Billy, being Billy, and finding himself alone in the kitchen, serves himself a double helping and sits down to scoff it before the others return.

'I don't recall having said prayers yet!'

Too late. Billy spits the contents of his mouth back onto his plate, earning a disgusted look from Nellie as she stalks into the kitchen.

'Grandad's getting fussier every day,' she says to no-one in particular, 'when I left him he was poking around trying to find bits of eggshell to see if the eggs I used were brown or white!'

She takes her seat at the head of the table, frowns at the empty place on her right side.

'Where's Joey got to?'

'Dunno,' says Billy, sneaking another mouthful of eggs.

'Did someone call?'

Billy looks up and Nellie does the Sign of the Cross in relief as Joey swans in, looking cheerier than he has in a long time. Billy spits out more of his breakfast. Joey's got his old suit on, something he hasn't worn for years but which fits him like a glove, though it looks slightly odd with his unkempt, half-dyed hair.

'Where have you been, our Joey?'

'I went,' Joey says, a proud ring to his voice, 'on a job.' He slides the pot over, slipping a tenner under the nesting hen. It's the first note he's contributed in at least five months.

Nellie clasps her hands together. 'Oh, Joey!'

'It's not much, but it's a start, Mam. It's a start.'

'In case anyone 'asn't noticed,' Billy says, heckles rising, because Joey's stolen the moment _again_ , 'I'm dead nervous about Francesca comin'.'

His mam keeps on patting Joey's arm like tomorrow will do.

Billy fixes Joey with his best glare. ' _And_ you promised to help me look after her!'

Joey raises his hands. 'I know, son, I know- I will.'

'Well, stop talkin' about _you_ , then, and start getting ready to help _me_.'

Nellie looks like she might be about to make a disapproving comment, but Joey, still cheery after his successful late-night jaunt, waves it off.

'Okay, son, don't get your knickers in a twist!' He swipes one of Billy's bits of toast and stands up. 'Let me just go and get changed out o' this, back into me gear, and then we'll sit and brainstorm some things we can do with Francesca-sound good to you?'

It takes Joey twenty minutes to clean himself up, which gives Billy time to eat seconds and even thirds while he's waiting, and he's perked up and calmed down by the time his brother returns.

Joey is clean shaven, the faintest hint of colour in his cheeks, and he's smiling. Billy doesn't look at Nellie, doesn't want to see his mother's great joy at seeing her golden child on the way to being his old self again. He can feel resentment rumbling around his stomach, curdling with the nerves that are already there.

But then Joey turns his smile in Billy's direction, and Billy finds he can't stay angry at the bastard.

'Come on, eh, son. Let's go show that daughter of yours the time of her life.'

Billy stuffs another piece of toast in his mouth for the road and gets up to join his brother.

* * *

'I'm still not sure I should be doing this, Billy.'

' _I'm_ not sure you should be doing this,' Billy says, taking in Julie's smart dress and hat, the overnight bag in her hand, the look of anticipation in her eyes he wishes he hadn't seen. 'You're better off without that Julian- and Francesca could do with spending more time with her _real_ father and not some-'

'- I don't _mean_ the _wedding_ , Billy,' Julie makes a frustrated noise, 'I meant leavin' Francesca… _here_.' She makes a point of glancing around the living room, curling her lip at the components of Billy's sandwich business that have overflowed from the kitchen into the parlour, at Joey's stack of car magazines spilling off the coffee table, at Nellie's little porcelain ornaments, shoved this way and that to make room for Joey and Billy's rubbish, some of them sacrificed to the mess and smashed on the floor.

Billy tries not to grimace. Of course she wasn't saying she wanted him back. Of course that was too good to be true.

'Into the lions' den,' Julie goes on, 'surrounded by a pack o' Mams and Grandads and brothers with leather gear prowling around, backward brothers lurking over the road and snobby brothers in the next street and shallow, vain sisters crawling into the den…'

'I don't like you making lion comments about my family, Julie! We're good people- there'll be no prowlin' or lurkin' 'ere!'

Billy scowls and turns to face Francesca, who clutches her little suitcase like a shield.

' And you don't have to worry about Francesca, Julie. We take care of people, my family. We're gonna 'ave a good weekend, aren't we, Ces?'

'No.'

Billy remains optimistic. 'O' course we are! We'll have lots o' fun, while Mammy goes off with… _that man_.'

Julie tuts.

'No we won't,' says Francesca, parking herself on the sofa and clutching her suitcase even closer to her, shooting first a disdainful look at Billy, then a betrayed one at Julie. 'Mam, take me home.'

Julie sighs, kneels down in front of her. 'I know it's gonna be 'orrible, spendin' time with this Boswell lot…'

'Eh!'

'But when we get back, you and me and Julian can all do something nice, yeah?'

'That won't be for _aaages_ ,' Francesca grumbles.

'Yeah, and in the meantime, you and _Daddy_ can do something nice,' Billy's not going to give up.

'No,' says Francesca.

Julie makes a show of giving her a kiss, reminding her again that she and _Julian_ will be thinking of her while Billy strains veins in his forehead not saying anything, and then she walks out with an un-Julie-ish waggle of her hips and Billy is left alone, the screwed-up little face of his child staring up at him.

* * *

'Hello?' a voice purrs down the phone.

'Aveline, it's me. Billy,' Billy clarifies unnecessarily.

'What d'you want?' As soon as she's realised it's someone she knows, the rumbling, affected-posh accent has dropped away and his sister is talking in her usual raucous voice again.

'How do you make children not bored?'

A moment or two of silence down the line.

'Eh?'

Billy looks over his shoulder, to where Joey, voice animated and wildly gesticulating, is reading a book to Francesca- or trying to, at any rate. She's got her back to him, arms folded, nose turned up toward the ceiling.

'Well you've got kids,' Billy says, making it sound too much like an accusation, 'what do you do with 'em all day?'

'I don't _know_ , Billy, you don't plan to do things with 'em- you just… _do_ them.'

'Well _you're_ helpful!'

'I've got Ursula practicin' walkin' with a book on her 'ead,' says Aveline, 'she's gettin' quite tall- I'm _really_ proud of 'er- she's gonna be a fantastic model some day!'

In the background, Billy hears what sounds suspiciously like Oswald shouting _no!_

' _She's got a great future ahead of 'er, Oswald!_ ' Aveline calls, and then her voice gets louder as she puts her mouth back to the phone. 'You should see 'er cheekbones now, Billy, she…'

Rude though it might be, Billy hangs up on her.

* * *

'I don't know why it didn't work, son! That was Oscar's favourite book- it never _failed_ to cheer 'im up!'

'Yeah, well, maybe if you stopped thinkin' of Oscar and started thinkin' about what _Francesca_ likes, you'd do a better job of entertainin' 'er!'  
Hurt flashes across Joey's face.

Billy flings himself on the sofa and puts his head in his hands. Oh, what is he doing? What is he saying? He knows Joey's trying, is trying to _help_ , but his frustration is in the driver's seat, and the easiest thing to do seems to be to bite his brother's head off.

A pause ensues, and then Joey leans over the couch and puts his hand on his shoulder.

'It'll work out, son. It'll all work out.'

Billy smiles weakly, offers a pathetic _sorry_ and shuffles over to let Joey sit down.

They've got a few minutes of respite while Nellie takes Francesca upstairs to help unpack her bags- she's going to be staying in Joey's room, his brother having moved in with him for the night- in which to get together one or two contingency plans, pick each other's brains desperately in the hope of coming up with… _something_.

'We could take 'er to the park…'

'I did that last time I 'ad access! She was bored out of her dress!'

'You mean _brain_ , Billy. Well, okay, then, we can stay here- we've got the telly, we've got board games- well, I think we 'ave Jack's old snakes-and-ladders somewhere…'

'The dice are missin' from that.'

'Well, come on, son, help me out here! I seem to be the only one pitchin' ideas!'

Billy opens his mouth to complain but he's beaten to it.

'I'm not staying in _that_ room.' Francesca's back, pulling a sour face. 'It smells of man-perfume.'

'That, sunshine,' says Joey crossly, 'is _cologne._ '

Billy smirks.

'I'm _bored_.'

Francesca climbs over the side of the sofa and sits at the opposite end, absently kicking the upholstery. Billy looks desperately at Joey.

'Francesca,' Joey says, his voice enticing and caramel-sweet, 'have you ever been for a ride in a sensational, amazing, _exciting_ luxury car before?'

Billy crosses his fingers.

'Nope,' says Francesca.

' _Well_ ,' Joey begins.

'And I don't want to, either.'

Joey rubs his forehead.

'Eh? Why not?' Billy starts to rise, but Joey puts a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down.

'It might be a lark, sweetheart! It'd be like bein' famous, wouldn't it- everyone lookin' at you as you cruise by…'

'My Mam says that car's _dishonest_ ,' says Francesca with a vicious smile, 'she says you prob'ly broke the law to get it.'

Joey opens his mouth to defend himself, but Billy, heckles up, gets there first.

'Yeah, well _your Mam_ said that men are like hedgehogs!'

Both Joey and Francesca stare at him. Billy has never felt so small, so abashed.

'Well, she did! Once… er,' he winces at their uncomprehending faces, 'I'm just _sayin'_ , your Mam says all sorts o' rubbish! You can't believe it! She makes it up!'

Francesca's expression says it all. _Who's this idiot who calls himself me father?_

'Hedgehogs, eh…' Joey muses.

'Well, okay, it wasn't a great example…'

'You know, you sort o' look like a hedgehog…'

'Oh, shut it, Joey!'

Francesca immediately perks up, and Billy groans inwardly. Well, he's found _something_ she finds entertaining, but he doesn't want to spend the whole weekend fighting with Joey just to put a smile on the little wretch's face. He deliberates.

'Oh, that's it- I'm goin' over the road!'

He snatches his jacket up from where he dumped it on top of the telly yesterday and heads for the door.

'Whatcha goin' over the road for?'

'I'm gonna see if Jack knows where the dice for that board game are. Anythin's got to be better than this!'

'I don't want to play a game,' Francesca says as he goes.

Billy pretends he hasn't heard.

* * *

Of course, if you're going to march over to someone's house (Billy tries his utmost to forget this is where he used to live) and fling open the door unannounced, you have to expect to take people as you find them. And really, Billy shouldn't be surprised, when he barges in on Jack, to find his older brother wearing a pinny and waving a feather duster about. His brother has been doing this sort of ridiculous thing ever since he fell for Leonora, and the family have had many a discussion about the pathetic wimpiness of it all.

He yells out anyway.

Jack turns, his eyebrows joining and his mouth setting into a frown. 'Don't people knock where you come from?'

'Do all people dress like _girls_ where you come from?' Billy sneers back.

Jack throws his duster down, marches straight over to Billy and gets him by his collar. 'Now look 'ere, you, just 'cause I'm doin' the cleanin' doesn't mean I can't string you up from the roof! Leonora's got a lot to do, lookin' after the baby, and…'

'I want the dice!' Billy blurts, cutting him off. It's enough to make Jack release him, to take a step back and stare.

'Wha'?'

'Err,' Billy says, 'I'm lookin' after Francesca…'

'Yeah, I know. You rang me up at four in the mornin' on Thursday to complain about it.'

' _And_ ,' Billy perseveres, 'I want the dice for that snakes-and-ladders.'

' _What_ snakes-and-ladders?'

'The one you used to 'ave when you were younger! The dice are missin'!'

Jack looks at him in disbelief. 'What makes you think I'd 'ang on to an old pair o' dice?'

'Well, I don't know, do I? You could be usin' 'em for those tricks for money-that's called griftin', that is.'

'In all the years you've known me, 'ave I ever done any griftin'?'

'That's called denial, that is.'

'Billy, knock it off, will yer?'

'That's called bein' defensive, that is…'

In a flash, Jack has him by the collar again. 'If you don't buzz off, you won't need dice. You'll be able to use your spine as a spinner. That's called _frustration_ , that is.'

Billy shoots him a glare, but he retreats toward the door anyway. He's halfway out of it when another idea pops into his head.

'Eh- could I borrow baby Ryan for the afternoon? Francesca might like to play with-'

The threatening look on Jack's face is enough to send him running.

* * *

When he gets home, he finds Joey's made a spinner out of a bit of paper and a used matchstick.

They get through about two turns each before Francesca flips the snakes-and-ladders board over and stomps upstairs.

'And she was _winning_ , too,' Joey says, shaking his head.

* * *

Dinner is an unpleasant affair. Francesca refuses to eat anything, just sits making nasty faces at her plate, and kicking her chair leg again and again until Billy just wants to smack her. He doesn't, though. The last thing he needs is Julie accusing him of child abuse.

Nellie isn't exactly finding it easy to be patient with her either. Throughout the course of the afternoon, she's made less and less subtle comments about Francesca's manners, and Billy's irresponsibility as a father having led to this sort of behaviour. And when Joey had made a perfectly innocent comment (so commonplace and inoffensive Billy now quite forgets what) and Francesca had turned around and called him a 'sleazy git', Nellie had really lost her temper, and given the child a piece of her mind, subjecting her to the shouting fit of all shouting fits.

Hence her current sulk.

'Billy,' says his Mam, putting her fork down. 'Take Grandad's tray.'

'Aw, _hey!_ Why me?'

'Because _if_ you shouldered some responsibility, Billy, did your chores and the like, then _she_ ,' she glowers in Francesca's direction, 'might learn to behave! Honestly, Billy, how can you expect to teach that child anything if you don't lead by example? If you taught her a lesson about shouldering responsibility, then maybe she might learn to stop acting like a spoilt little…' Nellie stops herself.

 _Spoilt?_ Billy hates that word. It implies he's failed as a parent on all counts, and that's not on. He's not having it. An idea strikes him, and he looks defiantly at the small girl in the next chair.

' _You_ take Grandad's tray,' he says, plonking it down in front of her.

Francesca stares at it with distaste. 'Why should I?'

For the past few days, Billy has been feeling very Adrian-ish, like he's been hanging by a thread, but unlike Adrian, clutching a frail string isn't his forte. It breaks, and he falls.

'Because I said so!' he shouts. 'Oh, that's it, Francesca. I've 'ad it. You do what I say from now on. I'm your father- so I'm the boss. Okay? So just take that tray next door, Francesca, and don't you, er…don't you question me anymore!'

Francesca's stunned. Her eyes are twice their normal size. She drags them up to meet Billy's, and then, slowly, self-consciously, she picks up the tray and shuffles out of the kitchen.

Nellie looks surprised. Joey looks impressed.

Billy sits down, a triumphant grin on his face.

Francesca takes another obedient step into the parlour and then turns, delivering a parting remark which shatters Billy's pride in having successfully punished her.

' _Julian_ wouldn't make me do chores,' she says, and sticks her tongue out before disappearing.

Billy's face drops into his folded arms.

'I'm not ready for all this,' he choruses, the words muffled by the fabric of his sleeves.

* * *

Francesca takes a long time with the tray. Ten minutes pass, they end up dishing out pudding without her, and Billy begins to wonder if he did the right thing.

'I can't even tell 'er off right. She'll hate me forever now.'

'Keep at it, son,' Joey says. 'Stay firm. When,' he hesitates, voice catching, 'when Oscar…did somethin' wrong, Roxy used to…well, she'd leave me alone to deal with 'im- and I hated doin' it, but he…he realised I _cared_ , Billy. Because I wasn't just givin' up on 'im, d'you understand, son?'

'But what if-'

'Sunshine, I don't think for _one minute_ that Francesca will think less o' you because you laid down the law - she'll respect you for it. Look, Mam told us off all the time, didn't she, and do we hate her for it? 'Course not!' He rubs Nellie's arm.

'No,' says Billy, grinning at his Mam. 'She's the best there is.'

Nellie fairly beams. 'Extra pudding for you, Billy!' She scoops the remains of the treacle tart into his bowl.

'Oh, and Billy?'

He pauses, spoon halfway to his mouth.

'I'm proud of you, Billy. You'll be a good Dad to Francesca, you'll see.'

Billy chomps down his pudding in the highest of spirits.

_Nellie is proud of him._

For once, he's made himself ready- and so far, the results are pleasing.

But more minutes tick by, Francesca still doesn't come back, and his happiness quickly fades to worry- worry that she's run away, worry that maybe something has happened to her.

 _She'll come back_ , Joey and Nellie reassure him, but more minutes pass, and there's still no sign of her. Billy invests every last ounce of his willpower into staying put, staying firm- but Billy's never had much in the way of willpower. He lasts maybe thirty more seconds before he's flinging the front door aside and running out into the night.

* * *

The instant he's outside Billy throws down the last of his self-control, of his dignity.

' _Francesca!'_ his terrified call echoes through the entire street, ' _Fran-ces-caaaa!_ '

'Shut it, you little sod!' comes a shout from the upstairs window of Number Twenty-Two.

'I've _lost my child!_ ' he yells up at the window, and has to promptly dodge a grotty training shoe that's thrown at him from above.

Billy turns around and around, panting, sweating, looking up and down the street.

'Francesca!' he hollers again. 'I'm sorry for- for shoutin' at you and bein' a bad Dad – just don't be dead! Don't be…er… _disappeared_!'

' _I said shut up!'_

Billy ignores his neighbour. He's practically in tears, his panic overriding his common sense.

He keeps spinning and yelling, ignoring the most obvious explanation as to where Francesca's gone, ignoring the fact that the solution to his problem has been right under his nose, because a Billy worried is a Billy irrational.

He calls Francesca's name again and again, hoping a frizzy little head will appear from nowhere and run to him, in total disregard for the fact that, behind him, Grandad's door is wide open, warm yellow light emanating from within.

Up and down the street he runs, footsteps clattering against the pavement, waking up every baby in the street with his shrieks. It's only when sheer exhaustion overcomes him that he staggers through Grandad's doorway, and even then he doesn't twig.

' _Grandad_!' he bellows, ' _my daughter's lost and I-_ '

He's met with a pair of beady, critical eyes. Grandad glares through his spectacles, drops of gravy falling from his moustache, mouth half-open- he's clearly just been interrupted.

'Give over!' he snaps. 'You'll make me 'air fall out with all your 'ollerin'!'

'Grandad, I can't find-' the second half of Billy's protest drops away into oblivion as a small arm appears, followed by a torso which slowly rises up from behind Grandad's armchair. Francesca, gravy all round her mouth, grins at him.

Billy goggles. 'Fran-F…'

'Yes, well, where did you think she'd be, you daft 'apeth?!' Grandad shakes his head. 'Cavortin' all over the neighbourhood, shoutin' at the top of yer voice- we could 'ave 'eard you an 'undred miles away!'

'Eh-but…' says Billy, feeling like a complete and total idiot. Why didn't he think of looking in Grandad's house first? Nellie and his brothers are right when they tell him he needs to think before he acts. His knees bend involuntarily, and he falls backwards onto the other armchair. Grandad shakes his head again, settles back down and picks up his plate, scrutinising a Brussels sprout before discarding it.

'All burned, these are…now where was I?'

'You were tellin' me 'bout when you wore a balaclava,' Francesca says, chirpier and more enthusiastic than Billy's seen her all day. When she doesn't receive immediate gratification she goes on. 'In the army.'

'I know, duck, I know what I was tellin' you- I'm not daft, you know!'

When Billy was little, he used to cringe and whimper when Grandad got annoyed with him. Francesca, on the other hand, seems delighted by the old man's crotchety demeanour. She claps her hands together, climbs up onto the arm of his chair, rests her chin on her fist.

'Anyway,' Grandad says, 'yes, I were tellin' you about that cock-sure General, weren't I? Walks over to me, bold as brass 'e does, while I'm pullin' me balaclava over me 'ead- _don't want you wanderin' off again today_ , 'e says to me. _What's it to you if I wasn't 'ere yesterday,_ I says, _what right 'ave you_ , I says, _I saw what you were gettin' up to the other day, and I don't take orders from anyone who 'anky pankies_ …'

'What's hanky panky?'

Billy blanches.

'Grandad! Francesca's only a lit'le girl!' Billy probably heard worse from the old man as a child, but he's desperate to make a 'responsible father' image for himself and make it stick.

' _You do as I tell you_ , he said,' Grandad continues as if Billy hadn't spoken, 'and I wasn't 'avin' that- arrogance, it was- _oh piss off out of it_ , I said-'

'Er,' Billy stands up abruptly, grabbing Francesca's arm and yanking her to her feet, 'we'd better go back next door…'

'But I wanna hear the story!'

'Maybe tomorrow,' Billy says, hoping she'll have forgotten all about it by then, and praying with all his might that she won't tell Julie about this. He puts one hand on each of her shoulders, guiding her away from Grandad and out the room.

He may just be imagining it, but as he does, Billy could swear she lets out a little giggle.

'I'll come back tomorrow!' Francesca yells over her shoulder as Billy ushers her to the door.

She holds his hand as they walk back to Number Thirty.

* * *

It's not as though anything spectacular has happened, nothing drastic, nothing he can put a finger on and say _that's it, that moment, right there._ But _something_ has changed, just slightly. Something small, faint- imperceptible, really, has altered.

Of course, Billy isn't expecting him and Francesca to suddenly develop the perfect father-daughter relationship, just because he happened to act like a proper father on one occasion. Joey has warned him not to be impatient, and he's going to heed that warning, to take things as they come. And so he tries not to be disappointed when Francesca still won't speak to Nellie, tries not to sigh when Francesca screws up her face as he kisses her goodnight.

Still, he can't suppress the hope that glimmers in his eyes when he sees her smile as he turns the light out, that simmers in his chest when Francesca bursts into his room two hours later and climbs into the foot end of his bed, stating she won't sleep in that 'man-perfume' room a minute longer. And when she thumps down the stairs the next morning, hair tousled, buttons of her pyjamas done up wrong and a sleepy look on her face, and smiles at him again, Billy feels the most incredible surge of- pride? Ecstasy? Hope, or perhaps something stronger? A good feeling, anyway. He's not all that good at correctly identifying emotions, and since he told Adrian he looked _disfigured_ instead of _distressed_ and got an hour-long neurotic rant from his brother about being ugly, he tends not to try.

Still, he's pretty happy, no doubt about that. Their relationship still has a long way to go before it reaches perfect, but somehow, oddly enough, it's been improved slightly by the ramblings of a crotchety old man.

'Someone needs to take Grandad's tray,' Nellie says, _just_ as Billy has sat down, but before he can complain Francesca has scrambled up.

'I'll go!'

Seems like she hasn't forgotten her pledge to return to Grandad's.

Joey laughs as she struggles to get her arms around the tray.

' 'ere- er…I'll 'elp,' Billy says, hastening to lighten the load by taking the pots of jam off it. This way he has an excuse to come with her and make sure Grandad doesn't corrupt her.

The first thing Grandad says when he opens the door is 'where's me bloody breakfast?'

Well, so much for that.

* * *

When Julie comes back on Sunday afternoon, she finds them sitting in the parlour arguing over who's winning at snap.

'You put down an extra card, Joey!' Billy cries in outrage.

'I assure you, son, I only put down the first one on my pile…'

'No! No!' Francesca waves her hands about. 'He did! He put two down so he could get a pair- I _saw him_!'

'You're a cheat, Joey, that's what you are! You're just…you're just practisin' deceit!'

Joey winks and shrugs, and Billy is about to lean over and snatch back the pile of cards he's unlawfully acquired when a noise makes him jump.

'Heh-hem.'

He turns around, his eyes alighting on Julie's form.

Billy tries not to spend too much time ogling the gold band on her finger, tries not to think about the fact that it could have been his ring there, had he ever bought her one, about the fact that when Francesca goes home it'll be to Julie and _her new husband_. Francesca likes Billy just a little now, and so long as he reminds himself that he can work on what they've started to build (and keep bringing her to Grandad to easily curry favour) he can stop himself from utterly despairing in all the rest of it.

'Oh- er- hello, Julie!'

Julie all but ignores him, focussing instead on their child.

'Did you 'ave a good time at ya Dad's?'

'Yeah!'

Julie can't conceal her surprise. She turns on her ex-husband, her face threatening to twist into a snarl.

'I hope you 'aven't been leadin' 'er astray, _Billy!_ ' she says, hands on hips. 'The last thing I want is my daughter havin' been amused by some Boswell treachery while me back was turned!'

'You have such a suspicious mind, Julie!' Billy says, getting up off the floor so she no longer towers over him. 'You just keep comin' out with all these… _suspicions!_ '

'Eloquently put, son,' comes Joey's dry remark.

Julie sends her glare in his direction, then Billy's, and then plasters a smile back on.

'Come on then, love. Let's get you out o' this _Godforsaken_ place! Julian's waitin' in the car- we've got loads o' photos to show you, and-'

'Did you hanky-panky?'

' _Billy!'_ before Billy can even register Francesca's comment Julie has whirled, delivering a stinging slap to his face. The pain smarts through his cheek, but Billy barely notices it- he can hardly keep a smirk at bay. The memory of Francesca talking about _hanky-panky_ in front of Julie- _to_ Julie- won't be easily chased out of his head, and though it signals doom, in that his ex-wife will be out to kill him at every turn now, the hilarity seems to outweigh that.

' _How dare you teach her words like that, Billy Boswell!'_ Julie screeches, but Billy isn't listening- he's too busy trying not to giggle. He bites his lip and looks over at Joey, only to find his brother in a similar state. Joey gets up, coming to stand behind Billy, and he can feel him snickering into the back of his head. He elbows him.

'Come on, Francesca! We're _goin'_ now!'

'Hang on,' says Francesca, nonchalantly drawing a card from her deck and slapping it onto the snap pile. 'We're just finishing this game.'

' _Francesca! Now!'_

'Piss off,' comes the reply.

Julie looks outraged.

Joey and Billy exchange glances and then collapse into each other, laughing their heads off.


End file.
